


Babel

by edvic



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Feelings, M/M, Miscommunication, Non-Linear Narrative, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 18:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17085623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edvic/pseuds/edvic
Summary: “I shouldn’t have come back.”Credence is holding the teacup so tightly it may break. He wonders if it did, Mr. Graves would stop acting so holy.Credence sees Mr. Graves again and thinks how the two of them got there.





	Babel

**Author's Note:**

> Posting something after such a long time is a bit terrifying but CoG made me think about this idea again so here it is.

Credence knows Mr. Graves forgot his watch. 

Maybe he doesn’t want to look for it right now. It’d make him take at least one hand off Credence and Credence thinks he wouldn’t like that. There’s an unexpected softness to Mr. Graves’ touch; it takes Credence by surprise every time. Maybe Mr. Graves knows sometimes these hands are all that keeps Credence breathing.

Some days Credence likes the idea of Mr. Graves knowing. What he doesn’t like is the reason behind it all. It makes him want to hide from himself. 

Usually, Mr. Graves carries his watch in the left pocket of his coat, but Credence can’t feel it there. Their bodies are connected in a way that makes Credence able to tell and if he moved a bit closer and tilted his head his nose would touch Mr. Graves’ ear. The thought comes from nowhere and is a bit terrifying.

He stops shivering at last. 

It’s not the cold. The autumn is warmer than the year before and Credence likes that the late September sun makes Mr. Graves squint his eyes. Squint and then smile when Credence stands in a way that makes him Mr. Graves’ sun umbrella. When Mr. Graves smiles, Credence feels warm and odd and wrong.

Mr. Graves holds him close and Credence breathes in so deep it makes his body hurt. The vein on Mr. Graves’ neck keeps pulsing.

"What time is it?"

 

* * *

 

“Yes, I’m happy.”

Credence thinks his voice doesn’t sound like he is. 

From across the room, Mr. Graves looks at him. 

His eyes are not like he remembers and it hurts.

Credence wonders how much of the grief in Mr. Graves’ eyes is there because of him. How much of the anger too. He’s standing too far away to tell and there is no sun.

The space between - a coffee table, a couch he sat on once - protects them both.

They’ve been looking at each other for too long without speaking a word and Credence doesn’t know why it’s so different from before. They didn’t speak at all some days.

Mr. Graves looks tired and old. Was it really that long since they’ve seen each other, Credence thinks. He wants to know if Mr. Graves sees a stranger in him too, but he doesn’t ask. He’s afraid of what Mr. Graves may say.

When Credence speaks again, his voice seems even less his.

“I won’t hold it against you.”

 

* * *

 

“Did you hear the storm last night?” 

Credence shakes his head. Then, a breathy  _ no  _ follows.

He doesn’t remember his dreams these days and he doesn’t want to think about them now, not when Mr. Graves is so close. Credence thinks that if he dreams, it’s about Mr. Graves. Maybe in dreams he’s a bit less like himself. Or maybe there is no Credence at all.

“The wind wouldn’t let me sleep,” Mr. Graves says, as if filling the silence with words helps him ignore the way Credence’s nail are digging into his back. Like claws.

Credence can’t stop thinking that one day his nails will go through Mr. Graves’ coat and then through his skin, right to his flesh and maybe then he’ll finally see Mr. Graves for what he really is. Or maybe he’ll wear Mr. Graves’ skin as his own.

Maybe that’s what he’s dreaming about.

“And the rain, you didn’t hear it?”

Credence shakes his head again. He slept as if he was dead that night. Or maybe as if he wandered far away from his body. Which, he thinks, is a bit of the same thing.

“The sky fell down like a sea,” Mr. Graves says and Credence tries to imagine, but he’s never seen a sea, “and I saw colours from before time “

 

* * *

 

“I shouldn’t have come back.”

Credence is holding the teacup so tightly it may break. He wonders if it did, Mr. Graves would stop acting so holy.

He’s not sure what is he doing here, in the apartment of a man he said goodbye to already, a man he buried. He’s angry at Mr. Graves and he’s angry at himself. He keeps reminding himself to unclench his left fist.

Mr. Graves is the past that came back to haunt him. He’s both his guilt and the salvation Credence’s been looking for and the proof of his crimes. He’s all that’s left from the time before and so he’s nothing and everything and Credence wonders if he didn’t prefer it when Mr. Graves was dead. 

“Is there anything,” Mr. Graves says but never finishes.

There is, Credence thinks, but when he speaks, he says,

“No.”

Mr. Graves doesn’t look like he believes him.

Then, Credence says,

“I should go.”

He doesn’t want to.

“If you want to,” Mr Graves says and Credence can feel his skin itch.

He wants Mr. Graves to stop him from going like he did that one time. He wants Mr. Graves to tell him all the lies he said that day too.

“You’ll be better off in Britain,” Mr. Graves says.

The itch under Credence’s skin gets worse.

“Too bad you can’t promise me.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re right, it must’ve been a dream.”

Mr. Graves smiles like he’s a bit embarrassed and Credence thinks he could look at Mr. Graves for a whole day without blinking a single time.

When Mr. Graves looks at him, his eyes are warm and when he touches Credence’s hair, so lightly he's not sure if it's happening, Credence feels funny in his stomach. Like he's sick. He probably is, he thinks. He wants Mr. Graves in so many ways.

He wants to touch Mr. Graves' ear with his nose. He wants to touch Mr. Graves' short silver hair too. He wants to tell Mr. Graves so many things he has no words for and he wants to hide so Mr. Graves can never find him again, never see him again.

The sun is setting and Mr. Graves isn’t smiling anymore.

"I wish I could sleep so deep."

 

* * *

 

“So you still think about him?”

Credence regrets asking.

Mr. Graves makes a face.

Credence doesn't remember getting up but Mr. Graves' eyes are on his level now and he's not looking up anymore.

He's angry in a miserable way that stops him from doing anything. He could break the teacup but that'd be rude. He could come up to Mr. Graves and punch him maybe, but the thought makes him even more angry. He could show Mr. Graves his magic to make him talk or maybe to terrify him or to make him see that he's no longer helpless. He wants Mr. Graves to say something. He wants Mr. Graves to touch him again so he doesn't have to do it first.

But it's obvious now, they're not alone. There's Mr. Graves and there's Credence and between them, there's the other Mr. Graves.

Credence doesn't want to think about him. It makes him feel guilty. 

He almost says he's sorry but the words won't leave his mouth.

Mr. Graves doesn't say anything. He's staring at his house shoes and he looks so tired Credence wants to ask him to sit down. He wants to sit down next to Mr. Graves and put his arms around him. He wants to touch Mr. Graves' short silver hair. He wants to touch Mr. Graves' ear with his nose.

Credence thinks it seemed less impossible before. 

“Is that all there is?”

 

* * *

 

“At least you’re honest with me," Mr. Graves says. They're talking about dreams again and Mr. Graves almost touches Credence's chin but then his hand moves down to his shoulder. 

Credence thinks that if he was honest with Mr. Graves, Mr. Graves would never speak to him again.

He starts shivering. There are too many things wrong with him and he wants to disappear.

He takes half a step back before he can think what he's doing. Mr. Graves' hand falls off his shoulder.

Mr. Graves looks surprised but not taken aback and Credence doesn't understand why. He's such an ugly creature. Mr. Graves should run away before Credence turns him into something as ugly as himself.

Mr. Graves sounds odd when he speaks.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gone soon.”

 

* * *

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave this city.”

Credence doesn't know why he says it. It's not like Mr. Graves cares. 

His teacup is still full and he wishes he never got up. He'd rather sit down and look up at Mr. Graves for some time. He wouldn't mind the silence this time, he thinks.

But he's up already and he doesn't know what to do with his body in Mr. Graves' apartment. He only knows the couch.

Credence knows it's time to turn around and walk away. Put his coat on - maybe he could take Mr. Graves' coat instead and pretend it was a mistake - and close the door. Never think about Mr. Graves again. Never say anything to him. Leave him in the before with the other Mr. Graves and Chastity and Mary Lou. With the other Credence too.

He takes half a step back, but doesn't turn.

Mr. Graves is looking at him again, but Credence is looking at Mr. Graves' fingers instead.

“You have such beautiful hands,” he says.

 

* * *

 

“That’s ancient history," Mr. Graves says. 

His hand is no longer on Credence but he's holding it close so Credence can see the scar. Between Mr. Graves' thumb and forefinger, there's a pale line. Credence thinks that it doesn't make Mr. Graves' hand ugly like his own are. He wants to touch that scar too, like he wants to touch Mr. Graves' ear.

"The blade went through," Mr. Graves says. His voice sounds clear and soft. Credence thinks he likes Mr. Graves' voice a lot. He likes a lot of things about Mr. Graves. “But it missed the bone.”

 

* * *

 

“How could I forget?” 

Credence is standing close to Mr. Graves. He sees the scar clearly, the old one on Mr. Graves’ hand and the new one going down his left cheek. It’s not healed yet and Credence feels his fists clench again. He feels anger. He feels guilt too. He tries to put it away. For now. There are so many things he cannot change, he thinks. But some he can. 

When he touches Mr. Graves’ face, Mr. Graves is so still Credence worries his heart has stopped. He thinks that maybe Mr. Graves doesn’t want to be touched. Or maybe that he’s scared of what Credence has become. He thinks there are questions he doesn’t want answered.

Mr. Graves breathes through his mouth and Credence can feel it under his fingers.

Up close, he can see the freckles on Mr. Graves’ nose. It makes his feel warm. He doesn’t allow it to make him feel wrong.

“Please,” Credence hears himself says. He’s not sure what he’s asking for.

 

* * *

 

“Is there anything-”

Mr. Graves is no longer looking at Credence. He’s looking up, at the sky. It’s an odd shade of red and it reminds Credence of blood and fire.

He thinks there are so many things. So many things he couldn’t probably name all of them. But sometimes - now - they all take the form of one word he can’t say.

Some days he’s almost sure Mr. Graves knows the word and pretends not to.

It hangs between them in the late afternoon air, slowly making them grow apart. Soon, Mr. Graves will find his watch and Credence will realize how late it is. On his way back he’ll think about Mr. Graves’ smile and then he’ll think about Mr. Graves’ voice. He’ll try not to think about Mr. Graves’ touch. He’ll fail. He’ll fall asleep.

Mr. Graves is lingering but Credence can see he’s far away already. Maybe he knows what Credence is going back to. 

But if he does, Credence thinks, why doesn’t he stay. 

There’s one last touch - a pat on his shoulder - and then Mr. Graves says,

“Sleep well.”

 

* * *

 

“Nightmares again?”

Credence meets Mr. Graves in the kitchen.

The world outside is covered in soft, silent darkness. It’s so quiet Credence thinks he could hear god calling him by his name, but no one’s calling.

“I heard you scream.”

A few drops of water drum down the sink.

Credence thinks Mr. Graves looks like a ghost rather than a man. There's a bit of his left ear missing and he’s moving slower than Credence remembers.

“I thought it was you,” he says.

Mr. Graves sits down at the kitchen table and Credence moves closer. He’s not sure how close up he can get without getting hurt.

“Bad dreams?”

“Memories,” Credence says. He can’t really get rid of them. Not yet. 

The clock ticks. It’s so dark Credence can’t tell what time it is.

He’s sitting next to Mr. Graves. For a moment, their arms touch. Then, their legs. Credence thinks how easy would it be to touch Mr. Graves’ ear with his nose right now and that he’ll never grow tired of Mr. Graves’ scent. It calms his down. 

“Sleep some more?”

Credence yawns. He thinks about the bed in Mr. Graves’ guest room and how warm it is. How soft. He thinks about the way Mr. Graves lingered at the door before they said their  _ goodnights _ . 

“I have to get ready,” he says. For the ship, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he says, “What time is it?”

Mr. Graves doesn’t say anything for a long, long moment. Credence counts his breaths to measure. It’s four when Mr. Graves speaks again.

“Please,” he says and Credence thinks he sounds nothing like the Mr. Graves from before, “Stay.”

Credence looks at Mr. Graves and Mr. Graves looks back. There’s something about Mr. Graves’ eyes that makes Credence feel both warm and aching. He thinks about the ship and about the time before. 

Mr. Graves doesn’t move. Credence thinks about regret. There are so many other ships.

The shadows keep getting paler and Credence feels something new.

“I don’t want to know what time it is.”


End file.
